Part 46 (1/2)
”A knowledge of the difference between the love of a true man and that of a false one,” she answered quietly.
”A true man! Oh, call him a fool and be done with it.”
”Perhaps, but I could love such folly.”
He seemed to strangle his irritation in his throat.
”A lot of good it will do! You belong to me. That is written in the book of your life, and what is to be will be. And I'll get the treasure, too.”
”Never! You call them fools, but they have outwitted you from start to finish.”
”They've pulled the chestnuts out of the fire for me, if that is what you mean.”
”And as for me, I'm only a girl, but I swear before Heaven I'd rather sink a knife into my heart than give myself to you.”
He clapped his hands ironically with a deep laugh like the bay of a wolf.
”Bravo! Well done! You'd make a fortune in tragedy, Evie. But dramatics apart, you may make up your mind to it. I'm your master, and before twenty-four hours shall be your mate. Why else have I brought this broken wretch of a priest along, but to tie the knot in legal fas.h.i.+on?
I'm a reasonable man. Since you have a taste for the conventional and decorum you shall have them. But priest or no priest, w.i.l.l.y nilly, mine you are and shall be.”
”You think everybody is a fool but yourself. Can't I see why you want the marriage? It's not to please me, but through me to give you a legal claim on the treasure.”
”Why do you always stir up the devil in me? I love you. I want to please you. I'll treat you right if you'll let me.”
”Then send me back to the yacht, Boris. I'll give my word to divide the treasure with you. My friends will do as I say. You don't want to break my heart, do you? Think of all the dreadful murder that has been done by you.”
”Not by me, but by you and your friends. I offered to compromise and you would not. Now it is too late. No, by G.o.d! I'll play the game out to a fighting finish.”
She gave a sobbing little cry.
”Have you no heart?”
His voice fell a note. He moved close to her.
”_Cherie_, you have stolen it and hold it fast in this little palm I kiss!”
By the sounds from within she must have struggled in vain. I told myself:
”Not yet, not yet!”
”In such fas.h.i.+on my ancestor Bothwell wooed Mary Queen of Scots. Fain she would, but dare not. She knew he was a man and a lover out of ten thousand, and though her heart beat fast for him she was afraid. She fled, and he followed. For he was a lover not to be denied, though a king must die to clear the road. So it is with Boris, my queen.”
”You mean----?”
The catch in her voice told me she breathed fast.
He laughed, with that soft boisterousness that marked his merriment.
”Your mad Irishman is no king, but he has crossed my path enough. Next time he dies.”
”Because he has tried to serve me!”